


Those Lonely Nights

by Calesvol



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dissociation, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-03 01:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16316792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: It's in the late 1950's and the vampire is pining for the butler made man, overtaken by a sudden passion unprecedented for the one he hadn't known such feelings for existed.





	Those Lonely Nights

**Warning(s]:**  Disassociation, mental breakdown.

* * *

Torment came in sweet guises, when the mind was away and asleep. Unexpected, ravishing the darkness with troubled throes and the misery buried as deep as it could be. But buried ground was disturbed, especially when it was an obvious plot stumbled upon in the routine of the day, lingering. But in the drifting repast of night, it came as sharp pangs, unable to deny what they were. In the departure of twilight when they grey-eyed morn came upon the horizon and lingered there, and in the stifling swelter of a senseless darkness the dungeon of his chambers afforded, he still knew. Could hear the stirring of birds, trees, even through the thickness and depth of the walls. Almost as if the flora swayed alongside him, tender shoots dyed jade. Seeming warm and the sun more mild than in the zenith of daytime.

But these ruminations were thoughtless as they retreated like a tide and were replaced by all that was smothered, returning him to that grave plateau. Alucard's eyes fell shut again and he willed it away, but it came warm. Scented with cigarette smoke, the silk of a finely tailored suit, the faint callous of hands and the column of a neck he wanted to bury himself into. When he was alone, without anyone to judge his waking thoughts, in this wakeless sleep he could. Pretend in the damp cold that it was warm. Like that one night, jolting at the reminiscence of the initial misunderstanding, but burying himself deeper and damning it away.

He wanting something to hold.

He wanted to cling to the butler–with such desperation that his chest throbbed further.

Panging, panging, as though it were trying to beat away the hole in his chest, fill it with sound and sensation, only to exacerbate that which was thickening his throat and making it difficult to breathe. Chest throbbing, beating. He envisioned possessiveness, by the man and him speaking towards him in mildly humored tones, then darker. Claiming. Claiming and taming and stinging him with barbs and filling the holes in his being with something dangerously fulfilling.

"–I'm…sorry."

Speech was such a startling sound in these tumultuous hours, Alucard shrinking over himself as elbows upon knees supported the hands that dug and braced into his skull, breathing becoming stertorous and sharp. Eyes wide and uncomprehending in the total darkness, even though he could normally see through it as vividly as daylight.

Yearning, longing–all mired sickly in the shackles of remorse. Of how loss was profound upon him, this miserable creature who was too dependent upon the precious than he was capable of functioning without. He began to shudder, to tremble, drawing beads of blood as the sensation he was clinging too was fading for emptiness. Digits digging into his skull, fear becoming cold and paralyzing in him.

When Alucard tremulously removed his hands, that fear didn't fade. The darkness became a swallowing force, dredging upon him and burying so deeply that he couldn't breathe ( didn't need to breathe, didn't need, didn't– ]–mind racing to anywhere else that it could seek. He panted, head lifting suddenly as he knew–hunger. Suddenly, his stomach clawed at him. Becoming aware, remembering, forgetting that he hadn't partaken in…before–

His throat closed before he could name as to why. Couldn't, couldn't name it–

But he still sought, clamored, desperately clapped hands upon the floor like a blind man in his attempt to grope for one unspent. Until, one struck his senses, partially fed from with at least a mouthful left. Seizing it, Alucard staggered weakly to his throne, vitality becoming excruciatingly drained in the breadth of just minutes. He braced blearily, the wood creaking as he propped upon it heavily, only for his legs buckle and crumple to the floor, chin upon the seat as he weakly lifted him to sit upon the flagstone, at least, remembering–the blood.

Fangs numbly pierced through the plastic, nursing what little remained, but in the wake of doing so, his body rejected it. Spurned it. Shoulders seizing, he began to dry heave, coughing it back up and upon the floor–trembling in his weakness. He hadn't drunk, but now, he couldn't.

Because it was the wrong blood.

Listlessly, Alucard stared into the blackness of a wall, hunger still gnawing ravenously alongside the empty throb in his chest, aching entirely, but unable to do a thing about it. He was blank, but a void contemplation in the restless dark that consumed and ruled him, panting breathlessly as wretched exhaustion and starvation overtook and reigned upon him. What a miserable lout he was, wasn't he? Unable to drink, barely strong enough to stand–a newborn foal had a greater constitution than he in this moment.

Why, it was keenly reminiscent to Van Helsing sealing him to his absolutely lowest level, a sensation not felt since the turn of the century.

Eyes became dull, a hulled orange that barely flickered, dimmed too deeply as it blurred. Red–ah, but not the right red. Leaking from him eyes as the grains of wood dug into his chin, staring instead into the upward rise of this wretched throne. But, he smiled, weakly–ironically. Even as his heart began to throb miserably again, revitalizing him enough if only to be cognizant of this dull, sundering throb.

" _Hah h a ha…_ –how pathetic…"

All before it all faded into a welcoming, numbing blackness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask, yes, this is very much Waltercard without Walter. Context? Alu's falling hard for the butler and is grappling with those fledgling emotions that are almost impossible to fathom. This makes this drabble almost a musing.
> 
> While I'm profoundly aware of the vitriol against the pairing, this isn't the pedophilia so abhorrently romanticized. This is Alucard pining for the adult Walter, and solely the adult. Shotacon is gross and I hate it, so don't expect any Young!Walter and Alu from me, thanks.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


End file.
